


Like a Burning Flame

by Masterofceremonies



Series: All The Ways [4]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, POV Second Person, Quickies, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:04:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6274537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Masterofceremonies/pseuds/Masterofceremonies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athelstan is keeping a journal because he cannot confess his sins to anyone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Burning Flame

**Author's Note:**

> This is different than the other chapters because I wanted to switch it up a little, so this is a bit more explicit with words and actions. 
> 
> Unfortunately this is not a threesome fic (I miiiight write one later) but I like the idea of Ragnar figuring out what's going on with his priest and his friend and being 100% into it.

_Hands, teeth, lips, on you, your skin, grazing your pulse, making it race, scared, aroused, needing more, pleas bubbling from your throat as it is bitten, hips arching into fingertips as they are bruised, toes curling, air abandoning your lungs, hands shifting, gripping, pushing, sliding._

_You cannot think._

_He is flickering, fading in and out, a phantom of pleasure sent to torture you, you are writhing, pulsing against him, the bed, his hands, thighs, teeth, anything, everything, every moment you are not moving forward is a moment of unbearably, unendurable, ecstatic, euphoric pain._

_He will not stay still._

_His hands grab yours, fingers intertwining, they pin your wrists to the bed, tangling in your hair, wrapping around your neck, raking nails down your chest, clutching at your hips, gripping your thighs to spread them, yanking your legs up roughly, drifting back to caress your heated length, palm your stomach, press into your throat, drift over your lips._

_You feel so full._

_What a lewd thought to have, the knowledge that he is inside you, that his cock is inside you, what a crass word to use, even if you only think it, because you have not kept that depravity contained in your mind, how could you when he coaxes every hidden thought and repressed desire from you so easily, until you are moaning and cursing like a heathen, begging for him to fuck you, begging for him to fill you, begging for anything he could give you no matter how wicked._

_He has you at his mercy._

_He taunts you, scathing words, breathless tone, lilting speech, just as sharp as the teeth digging into your shoulder, just as pointed as the tongue that laps blood from your wounds, but you cannot stop the chanting that gushes from you like a damned river after a flood, calling to a god so distant from you in this moment that your prayers hold no weight, perversely contrasting your current situation, pinned to a King’s bed by a madman with your trousers half off, your tunic acting as a makeshift rope, arms uselessly bound together._

_You are entirely exposed._

_An image flits across your mind, Ragnar finding you like this, seeing you unstrung and mewling, on his bed, where his wife has spread herself for him like you spread yourself now, but where gentle curves and slopes appear on her, you have nothing but rough angles and harsh lines and oh god you are in his mouth and he has swallowed you whole and if this is not Valhalla than you do not believe in any gods at all because the fact that a man could do this to you must mean that anything greater than this is merely imagining borne of human greed._

_He does nothing but consume._

_You hiss a warning to him but he either does not hear you or does not care because a second later you are spilling into his mouth and he is drinking it down just as eagerly as he drains a horn of mead and with a much more lewd noise of satisfaction pulled from him from the taste, but god he does not stop there, he is not finished with you, and before you can regain control over your own facilities he is pushing into you, prying a curse and a much too loud gasp from your throat as he quickly sets a brutal pace, now only focused on his own pleasure._

_You cannot breathe._

_In and out, skin against skin, his hands still moving and fluttering and grabbing distractedly as he finds each scar, each healing wound, each bruise, each bleeding mark, caressing them like a blind man feeling about for something to hold, and it is only seconds later that he spills inside of you, and his release almost triggers another in yourself, but you are so spent you can do nothing but twitch and whine as his body draws tight, then pulls away, leaving you pulled apart and gasping for air on top of the furs._

_He is not human._

_He giggles and taps your forehead playfully, his energy not having dissipated in the slightest unlike yours which has been thoroughly drained in such a way that you feel the need to sleep for an eternity, but you cannot rest, cannot stay in Ragnar’s bed looking like a debauched pleasure slave, so you struggle into your clothes and pray the stains are not noticeable, hope that your flushed cheeks could be excused as having drank too much, watching as he practically skips away and rubbing your face in utter exhaustion before stumbling back into the main hall and collapsing on the nearest bench._

_You should have waited longer._

_No one looks up at your entrance; no one pays any mind to you, no one but… Ragnar. You feel his gaze on you from across the room, and you manage to meet his eyes, giving him what you hope passes for a friendly grin. He frowns, eyes dragging over your body before darting across the room to land on… oh gods…_

_He knows._

_If your face was not flushed before, it is now, your entire body turning red as you see the slow realization dawn on Ragnar’s face. He looks back to you, shock in his eyes, something like betrayal, and something you think could be jealousy. His emotions fade after a moment, however, and that is almost worse, because if he sees the situation in a detached manner, he will surely have you killed, or exiled, or made a slave once more, as is his right. To your utter surprise, he grasps his cup and raises it, toasting you silently, a show of his approval. Or maybe his tolerance. You sigh in relief, and nod gratefully, before he drains his cup and stands._

_Soon, everyone will know._

_You watch Ragnar closely as he maneuvers across the room, leaning down to whisper in the ear of the man who moments ago was fucking you on the King’s bed. He says something you could not possibly hope to hear over the revelry, but you can guess from the way both of their heads turn, two sets of eyes landing on you, one a bright icy blue, curious, searching, the other pair a shifting hazel grey that bubbles with amusement, and hunger._

_He nods, laughing. Your heart leaps into your throat._

_May the gods protect you from the both of them._


End file.
